[ It's becoming a well-known fact between them that witty repartee is right out the window the second Aziraphale gets his hands in Crowley's hair. Quite miraculous really - what mischief Crowley wouldn't have gotten up to if either of them had known this fact centuries before. And what mischief they would have gotten into.

Probably for the best. They'd never have gotten anything else done otherwise. ]

S'supposed to be good for your skin. Coconut oil. Good for - for all sortsa ssstuff.

[ Crowley had gone into that boneless, relaxed state, where he's slurring and hissing his words. His fingers are still idly tracing a pattern up and down Aziraphale's thigh, but they've slowed,
as Crowley's practically melted into the angel's arms. ]

Hmmmgh - s'good, love. Your hands. Always so good.